Chapter 46. Isabel, the Assistant
Isabel, the Assistant
PRESENT DAY
As soon as Cybele said it, I knew: I was an idiot. Why hadn’t I made the connection? The two, the long-ago victim and the current detective, had to be related. But how, and what did it mean?
The entire living room was buzzing.
Miranda’s face knotted in concentration. “Call me a ditzy brunette, babes, but I don’t get it. You’re saying the detective’s a missing girl?”
I rubbed my temples. “Let’s take a step back. List what we know.”
“One.” Scout raised a finger. “Emmy worked with someone to frame me for three murders: Elizabeth Drake, Simon Markham, and Rosie Wright. In exchange, that person wanted Emmy to kill her husband, Easton. Which she did.”
“Insane.” Cybele shook her head. “Even if you and Izzy were kind of shitty to people back then like you say, imagine hating your teenage nemesis so much you’d be willing to kill off your rich husband just to see her suffer. On the runway, we just put glass in each other’s shoes and call it a day.”
“Take Scout out of the equation and look at it from another angle,” Cara insisted.
“Whoever this mysterious person Emmy was working with is, they clearly hate Easton, if they wanted him dead. The confusing part is all the other dead people. Elizabeth, Simon, Rosie—I mean, technically, Scout does have a motive to kill all three of them, if you’re willing to believe she’d kill people who hurt her friends. No offense, Scout.”
Scout shrugged. “Been accused of worse.”
“Each of those victims was also connected to Gabriel Knox,” Reiko added, her long black hair shining in the candlelight.
“Elizabeth was his former assistant. Simon was his documentarian. And Rosie was investigating a crime he might’ve been involved in.
So what if Knox is the reason they were killed?
And whoever killed them was just smart enough to blame it on someone else who also had a motive? ”
“Someone had a growing reputation for taking revenge,” Cybele added. “People in the industry were starting to whisper about Scout—that’s how Juliet knew to find us.”
“Okay, think about it,” said Miranda, walking in slow circles, hand on her chin. “Reese, Gabriel, and Easton used to run around together in a crew. The older girls here probably remember them. Now Reese is in prison, Easton is dead, and someone’s going around killing people connected to Knox.”
A light dawned in Cybele’s eyes. “Not just killing people connected to him—getting Juliet to bomb his building.”
A strong wind gusted in through the open doors and blew out half the candles.
I swallowed a gasp.
“Who’s going to say it?” Cybele asked into the dark. When no one broke the silence, she straightened to her full height. “Fine. I will. What do we think about our great feminist hope Luca Clearwater?”
Christie, the Cut writer, gave a low, cautionary whistle. “She’s a dangerous person to accuse, Cybele. We just named her one of the biggest rising stars in the country.”
“But we know she hates Knox,” Cara said. “What if fighting him on TV wasn’t enough?”
“Hold on.” Kaitlyn the WAG stood up, scrunching her nose.
“Are we saying we think this Harvard stick-up-her-ass Luca Clearwater is willing to murder people to get revenge against the old Pussy Posse, because she doesn’t like their politics?
It sounds pretty weak, guys. And what, we just got caught in the middle? ”
There was a moment of tense silence. And then Cybele started to laugh.
“Babe?” Miranda reached up and pressed a hand to Cybele’s cheek, checking her temperature. “Have you lost your marbles?”
“This whole time, we thought it was about us.” Cybele pressed her hands into her eyes, still laughing. “Like we were so big and important. But we were just the scapegoats.”
Lightning flashed. I found Scout’s eyes across the room. It sounded eerily similar to what Emmy had said right before Brooks hauled her away: You narcissists. You think you’re the only people in the world who are owed some revenge?
“Okay,” Scout said, beginning to pace. “What if we weren’t the point?
What if I was framed just because Emmy hates me and the real killer—maybe Luca—thought, ‘Sure, why not, Scout makes a good person to blame’?
” She covered her mouth. “What if Emmy was right, and I’m such a raging narcissist that I couldn’t see past myself to what was really going on? ”
It was like a lightbulb flicked on. I strode across the floor and seized Cybele’s face before she could stop me, pulling her down and kissing her cheek. “You beautiful fucking genius.”
I whirled to the seated women as Cybele scrubbed her cheek. “It fits. Luca is a user. She used Emmy’s hatred to frame Scout, and she used Juliet’s need for validation to carry out the bombing. She’s smart enough to get other people to do her dirty work.”
Reiko collapsed onto the couch. “It’s one thing to come after Scout. But Juliet’s a kid, and now her life is over. The cops are going to rake her over the coals. We were supposed to look out for her, and we failed.”
It was only a coincidence that I happened to be looking at Scout while Reiko spoke, and I caught the strange look that came over her face, the way her gaze moved from the living room to the dark storm outside.
No one else seemed to notice—they just kept talking.
But I felt that warning in the air again, the animal sense that something was coming.
“One thing at a time,” Cybele insisted, holding up her hands. “Even if we agree that Luca is behind the bombing and the murders, we still don’t know why. Like Kaitlyn said, a political motive seems weak. And without a why, it’s going to be impossible to convince the cops.”
I’d started moving across the room without realizing it, trying to reach Scout, to stop whatever was about to happen. In the hush of breath right before I touched her, Miranda said, “And what can we do about it, if our evidence is mostly gossip?”
My hand closed over Scout’s wrist—but it was already too late.
“I have a plan,” she said, striding past me and forcing me to drop my grip. “But it’s going to involve sacrifice.”
“Whose?” I asked.
“Mine, mostly.” Scout spared me a glance. “But a little bit from everyone.”
“What are you thinking?” Miranda retook her seat on the couch. Cybele followed. One by one, all the women who’d stood settled back down, until the entire room watched Scout with rapt attention.
“I think someone we’ve been treating like an enemy could actually be an ally,” she said. “I’m going to recruit her. By offering her exactly what she’s wanted for months.”
I felt it before she even said it.
“Me.”
“Absolutely not,” I said, striding to Scout’s side as shocked murmurs filled the house.
“Iz.” Scout gave me a warning look. “We need to vote.”
“No. I’m putting my foot down,” I said, loud enough to quiet all the women.
“Izzy—”
“No,” I yelled. The crash of the rain was the only other sound in the room.
“This is my decision. I made all of this.” I turned to encompass the entire room.
“You all think it’s Scout—but it’s really me in charge.
I’m in the shadows, pulling the strings.
Scout’s career? Our rituals? Calling the meetings, coming up with the plans, dividing the work?
All me. Kaitlyn, do you know who got your ex-husband to agree to a divorce?
Christie, do you know who threatened your stalker until he went away?
Miranda, do you know who threw your ex to the IRS?
Audrey, who threatened your boss? All of it was me.
This is my group, and I get to say what happens next. ”
The silence was thick. Even Scout looked shocked. I knew I was coming apart at the seams, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of Scout taking the reins and doing something wild. All this spinning out of my control.
“If I say we’re not risking you,” I continued, turning to Scout, “then we’re not.” My chest heaved.
For a long moment, Scout just stared. Then a smile cracked her face. “There she is.”
“Excuse me?”
“I was starting to think you were a saint, going so many years without throwing a tantrum. Finally. Thank god you’re only human.
” Her eyes turned soft. “And I know you built this.” She looked around at the apprehensive faces watching us.
“Everyone else should appreciate it, too. But you’re wrong, Iz.
It doesn’t belong to you. It never really did. ”
I heard it, the echo of the last time she’d plunged a sword into my heart: At the end of the day, Georgia was my sister, not yours. Once again, she knocked the wind out of me.
Scout’s voice lowered. “Juliet is eighteen years old, Isabel. The same age Georgia was. Nobody deserves for their life to end at eighteen.” She squeezed my shoulder, but I remained numb, frozen with shock.
Then she turned to the rest of the room and said, her voice loud and sure, “If you’ve ever had faith in me, I’m asking you to vote for my plan. ”
For a long time, no one moved. And then, from the middle of couch, with the sparse candlelight flickering across her face, Reiko pressed two fingers to her forehead, then her heart, and then her shoulders. One by one, as I watched, speechless, thirty women made the sign.
I was overruled.